


Scars and Scratches

by JormTheKomodo



Series: Scars and Scratches [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Angry Alastor, Asexual Character, Barbershop Angel Dust, Bisexual Male Character, Blood and Gore, Boys Kissing, Budding Love, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Cooking, Dadvice, Flirting, Gay Male Character, Heart-to-Heart, Husk Has a Heart (Hazbin Hotel), Husk is father material, Love Triangle, M/M, Murder, Niffty is best daughter, Now with spacing, Old flame VS new fling, Pet Names, RadioHusk, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Tenderness, dad kink, everyone is crying, huskerdust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-26 11:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30105576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JormTheKomodo/pseuds/JormTheKomodo
Summary: Husk, after being dismissed and ignored by Alastor the moment his contract ran out, suddenly finds himself working for the bastard once more. Fifty-ish years of service and friendship, then tossed to the side for FIVE YEARS until the asshole had USE for him again... and to think he used to... bah! Thinking hurts the feelings... better to do the best of the situation. There was a kitchen, right? Maybe a garden... and some socializing would do him good. Get him to think of something else than his thought-to-be best friend... asshole... Besides, maybe that spider is right in that he should consider something more stabile? God knows he can't be arsed waiting for Alastor anymore.Alastor who, in his full asexual and aspberger glory, only starts putting dusty pieces together at the introduction of a rival for his best friend's attention. And had it really been five years already...? Oh dear...
Relationships: Alastor/Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust/Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Charlie Magne/Vaggie
Series: Scars and Scratches [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2225403
Comments: 15
Kudos: 45





	1. My skill? To kill and grill.

Scars and Scratches. Chapter 1: My skill? To kill and grill.

Upon calm and quiet settling in the worn yet freshly cleaned lobby, the lone remaining resident and newly established employee drew in a lengthy breath for an even longer sigh to be released. Husk, the newly appointed receptionist and barkeep at the hotel, grumbled as memories flooded his surprisingly sober mind. The handful of sinners and demons that lived there had thought him black-out drunk as they left to their rooms, which was quite plausible for anyone unfamiliar with the unforgiving liver of the feline creature. Not unforgiving in that it could not process the booze he kept forcing down his throat… no, unforgiving in that it worked TOO well. Part of his damnation, if he had to gamble a guess. Pun intended. To be unable to forget and unable to escape. That was his torment and he’d find no cure for it. All he could do was strain the capacity of his accursed organ with the highest possible amount of quantity at the lowest possible quality. Cheap shit by the barrel-load was all that could give him momentary respite from the images conjured from his hyper-sensitive ears and eyes. But, he would always sober up depressingly quickly and be left with naught but the hangover and headaches… wouldn’t be hell without them.

  
He pushed himself up from the counter of the bar where he had pretended to clock out to avoid further questions and socializing. He had barely been there a minute before realizing he wanted as LITTLE as possible to do with the uppity, cheery and down-right Disney-levels of disturbing Princess that ran the place… well… ran and ran… more like owned it, and the reason Alastor had gotten a foothold on her project was her inability TO run it. And therein lied the core of his thoughts… Alastor. The Radio Demon. One of few Overlords of the sinner’s circle and respected- fuck it, practically worshipped long-time ruler of the Cannibal Colony. For reasons as obvious as the sharpness of his teeth. Alastor and Husk had history. Oooh, by all the Lovecraftian horrors at the lanky Orleanian’s beck and call did they have history… Which is what riddled the feline’s mind with questions to answer, lest he make a bad move.

  
Husk did not fear the Radio Demon. Fuck no. He respected him, in his own ways, and would sooner risk betting his life on pulling a Spade of Aces from an unknown deck of cards than go up against him in combat. But he did not fear him the way others do. Husk had been around too long, seen too much and figured out too many patterns to fear Alastor. Most sinners did not survive more than a few years in hell, Husk had survived 50 and then some… all whilst having been under contract to the Radio Demon for a hefty majority of said years. Key word being BEEN. The deal was fulfilled on both ends and the contract ended according to agreement. That was… four, five years ago? Six, tops. Fuck, it had been that long already? The cat-like alcoholic snarled and took a swig of the unknown liquor. Why did the bastard have to come back into his life…? And why like this? Greeter and barkeep at a hotel for redemption? Had the asexual asshole finally sprung his dial?

  
“… Five years, never even bothered to answer.” Husk spat before discarding his bottle into a nearby bin, rising to leave the counter and stroll the lobby with inattentive interest. He just needed to move whilst thinking. Lazy or not, he could only remain still for so long before his feline form would start to stir and sting with dissatisfaction. Double so if he was in deep pondering. As he walked, he subconsciously mapped out the locales adjacent to his new work environment. The sizes of the rooms, the location of windows and doors, the height of the ceiling and to the streets outside, pipes of water and any exposed wires… old habits from his mortal life in the military and his undeath under Alastor’s whims. He was an analytic soul, always had been, which had served him well both in doble and death… worn cards and war crimes… It had been what caught Alastor’s attention to begin with, and had birthed a merry little relation of bitter respect and sharp verbal fencing. Husker respected Alastor, deeply. He had stopped resenting the bastard ages ago for talking him into a very one-sided contract, but he did not fault the guy for it. Hell is hell, after all. And Alastor was a surprisingly caring and generous boss as long as you did your job. He was old-school like that.

  
… but then, that had been what left Husk feeling stung and hurt. More so than any injuries received establishing and carrying the crimson curse-weaver’s influence and orders. The moment their deal was ended, so too was apparently their friendship. Despite the promises made by the antlered asshole at the time. FUCK, Alastor had even gifted Husk with a new apartment for being the first soul in over twenty years to actually both outlive and out-perform his contract! The bastard KNEW where he lived because he literally PURCHASED the address for him! And yet… those drinks promised, as they would engage in on occasion after specifically fruitful victories or crippling defeats? Those meals that were talked and argued about into late hours due to their vastly different preference in taste? Those games of cards with Niffty? Fucking hell, Alastor had even made Husk promise to give him lessons in proper French… but five years, and the fucking bastard wouldn’t even reply to letters or return calls sent to the radio tower…

  
“… and now you just summon me here, as if nothing happened? As if you didn’t just spend the past handful a’years ghosting me like I was a street-vendor rat-burger?” Husk snarled, slowly turning his head to glare over his shoulder into the darkness. There was a moment of stillness, as if nothing was truly there at all… only when the poker-themed anti-sphinx snarled and widened his amber eyes to full and furious size did something shift in the perfect blackness of the unlit room. Alastor’s shadow was quick as a bullet to vanish along the darkest corners of the room, slithering like an unnatural mass of incorporeal grains of rice without a sound, leaving Husk properly alone. He left out an unamused puff of air through his heart-shaped nose before continuing his stroll. He knew Alastor. The man would be equally infuriated as impressed over that Husk- and Husk alone in this hellbent dimension could pinpoint his shadowy extension. He also knew the man well enough to know that the stroppy ponce wouldn’t spy on him if he was perfectly comfortable and content. Husk had his suspicions regarding the lengthy absence and the reasons behind it, but it felt like an insult to Alastor’s intelligence to assume them correctly.

  
“… you CAN’T be that stupid, Al…” He said to himself softly, almost as if begging it to not be true. In truth, he did not know which would hurt more. Alastor being too much of a natural loner and hermit with deep-rooted Asperger’s (or wait, wasn’t it Autism after some merger…? He could not recall) that he simply did not realize the agonizing solitude he had pushed onto Husk, despite his words and promises… or that Alastor was aware of it and simply made the active choice. Electing to ignore the cat until he could once more fill a more practical than social purpose. Which would hurt the more? For Al to simply be that much of an incompetent friend that- for all his brilliance and wits, could not see through Husk’s eyes even after 50 years of service… or that he could, and this was just another of his sadistic tendencies to tease and torment those around him…

  
Shaking his head briefly but intensely enough for his elven-length eyebrows to lightly whip at his own ears, Husk reminded himself of who he was and how he functioned. “Don’t think. If you think, you fall. Don’t fall. Eyes on the horizon.” He snarled and quickly glanced around himself for something- anything to distract him, until his perfect orange orbs of light luminescence halted upon the black holes of void in the darkness. The kitchen’s double-doors’ windows. He perked an eyebrow to himself before wordlessly and soundlessly steering his stride to and through the doors.

In the captain’s quarters of the old cruise liner vertically fused with the hotel’s core structure could be heard increasingly distorted radio music for anyone walking too close through the merged hallways of building and vessel. Alastor’s grin was sinisterly sharp, though there was no joy in it as he glared near-literal holes in his shadow, which did its best to not meet the murderous gaze. Alastor had of course seen and heard everything his shadow had, but clearly did not appreciate the speed of which his extension got exposed- AND sculked away! Sharp fingers tapped in repetitive rhythm against a bony knee, before the distorted noises silenced completely. Making the tapping disturbingly loud… as if claws played with bones.

  
“… were you going easy on him?” Alastor finally asked, his eyes narrowing slightly with accusive intensity and distain for his own suggestion. The shadow shook its 2-dimensional head against the dull-white paint of the wall behind him, to which Alastor frowned. “Then how is it that you were discovered so quickly? Dare I even say, -Immediately-?” The final word was uttered with dryness, yet without any movement of his lips. It simply projected itself through bared teeth. “Because of that, I have no clues at all as to his unwilling and unfriendly approach earlier. It is clear as day that something is wrong, but Husker is not one to keep shush about things bothering him… meaning it is something big… and thanks to your inept display, I am no closer to finding answers.” Alastor sighed, his gaze having wandered off the same way as his words went from scolding to reflecting, a hand now resting beneath his pointy nose and almost covering up the thin line his smile was reduced to. His attention drew itself back to the shadow as it took on the shape of Husk leaning against an invisible bar, a comically large bottle in hand and making drinking motions.

  
“What? You thought he was drunk? You should have known better after all this time… if anything, it has been five years! I was more than willing to cut you some slack when the two of you were close frequently, but after five years apart he should no longer be in tune with your-“ Alastor’s mocking face sharpened into a threat as he was interrupted by his shadow waving frantically at him. He did not take well to being interrupted in general, and particularly not by minions who just screwed up a job for him. However, he was quick to notice that the shadow was trying to tell him something, as it quickly took on the shape of both of them in profile. Its own distorted self pointing rapidly at the display of a sitting Alastor whilst tapping itself on the nose. “… that is just it?” Alastor perked an eyebrow, to which the shadow nodded. Warping a hand to grow a fifth finger and holding the hand above its head, pointing to it with the other. “… the five years?” The radio demon looked unamused over the strange suggestion, making the shadow face-palm.

  
Alastor spent the next few moments observing his personal familiar sink and spread out along the border where the wall met the floor, portraying Husk on one side like a hand-puppet, and a similar Alastor on the other side. From the middle, its head rose and warped into that of a clock. The singular arm of which began spinning rapidly, at which Alastor’s visual representation remained unchanging, but Husk’s kept slumping over… all whilst looking towards a non-changing and unresponsive Alastor clone. There was a sudden spark of noise, as if someone had bumped against a radio dial and blitzed it past all frequencies without stopping at any, as Alastor’s eyes widened in realization. “… oh dear… it HAS been five years, has it not…?” He closed his eyes heavily and reached a hand up to rub the lids covering them, agonized over his own insensitivity… and certainly not needing to see the little mocking parade of cheers displayed on the wall…

As the morning came, the street outside the hotel was empty for all but a lone currier. A confused currier, at that. For no matter how hard he strained his eyes, he could not see the apparent moped that clearly was making its way down the road towards him. For it grew louder and louder as if approaching the biking demon, before possibly taking a turn or seizing all together, as the noise died out. Never would this shrugging deliverer of parcels know that it had been the joyful squee of Hell’s Princess he had heard, not a faulty moped. As on the other side of the cathedral-like windows he passed by unthinkingly, a feast was being carried out from the kitchen and onto the lengthy table in the dining hall. Charlotte Magne smiling from ear to ear with such intensity that her doll-like cheeks vanished behind the lengthy locks of her sandy-gold hair.

  
“First the jambalaya dinner and now this! Alastor, we will get clients for sure with your cooking alone!” The princess cooed with a happy, cat-like smugness on her face as she set out the tray of sausages next to the bowl of baked beans. Her platinum-gray hairstyle of a girlfriend following it up with a platter of premade tri-wiches of various fillings and toppings. All held together with wooden toothpicks. Niffty had already beat them with the beans. Her hurrying steps catching up for a second delivery, this time with a glass bowl that beautifully revealed the simple yet decorative mash with boil-softened leek and grated carrot.

  
Alastor himself arrived shortly behind her with a towel-wrapped lazy-loaf of freshly baked white soda-bread and an arch of one eyebrow. His sharp grin-framed teeth separating to correct her, but Niffty was quicker and beat him to the punch. After all, it was not interrupting if they had yet to actually BEGIN! “Oh no no no! Mister Alastor would never make us something like this! Too rural! Too central-American! This has Husk written all over it only not literally because that would be OH so unsanitary and he USED to write his name on his bread and it took me YEARS to make him stop and DUST RAT!!!” The little cyclops interrupted and threw herself towards the rolling bundle of dust that Alastor had manifested and sent across the floor with a flick of his free pinkie, distracting his little chatter-happy and socially robbed maid. Where from she had pulled the switchblade with which she assaulted the affronted accumulation was anyone’s guess.

  
“Wait, Husk did all this?” Charlie blinked and turned her gaze towards the open set of double doors connecting the cafeteria to the lobby, where the cat had been found and walked by in the same position as he had been left as the night prior. She suddenly felt her heart skip a little at the thought of the bitter old man getting up early to make them all breakfast, but was pulled back into cautious present at the ominous chuckle of a certain cervid sadist.

  
“Oh there is no doubt in my mind that he did, my dear. Husker is one of many talents and peculiar habits! Like most cats, he only moves and acts when unseen and undisturbed. Watch him and he will not move, but give him space to roam and you will as entertained as I have over the years!” He chuckled, pulling a bread-knife from his sleeve that was certainly too wide and impeccably sharpened to have fit into the thread-like tube of his jacket. The sharpness being visually displayed as he thrust forward ONCE and slid free a slice with that singular motion. “Now, I am personally always split on having my bread pure to absorb the beans and sausage grease or toast it for additional flavour and scent. Any preferences? I will let the dominant desire decide for me!”

  
“Oh, uhm, well I would like it toasted, I think. But should we not go wake up Husk? I mean, if he made all of this it would not be right to eat without him?” Charlie suggested with less hesitation than most would, already taking a step towards the doors when Alastor appeared before her at inhuman speed, spinning the rounded oblong of bread on a finger. Letting it fall into his palm as an offering to her, perfectly and freshly toasted with heat distorting the air, yet apparently not burning the hand beneath it… or at least she hoped it did not, as he gave no facial indication that it did.

  
“I am neither a cruel master nor a bad friend, dear Charlie. I simply ask that you trust me in why I let Niffty join but elected to leave Husker to his own. Just because one could be argued into agreement does not mean they would enjoy what they agree too. Isn’t that right, dearest Vagatha?” He turned a slim-eyed and sickly knowing smile towards Vaggie, who responded by unintentionally sharpening her nose with a squinted frown. Not just because she hated him reading her so clearly, but because he could read her more clearly than her own girlfriend… who now looked to her with wide eyes of surprise over this apparent revelation.

  
“Sure could have fooled me. Niffty admitted to not being allowed to make friends often, and Husk clearly hates your guts openly. Based on what he dared say to your face, for which I applaud him, I am curious what he’d say about you in private.” Vaggie smirked as Alastor’s smile sharpened and eyes widened. Breaking that merry façade or not, he was easy to read when someone struck a nerve. Thank YOU Angel Dust for revealing that crack early! However, as his head creaked to the side and his pupils began to turn dial-like again, she sharpened her own lone eye and summoned her spear to her side. Lowering herself in a feral stance to strike upwards without fear or hesitation as Alastor began to lean towards her… he was REALLY not used to people taking a tone to him, it would seem, and she knew she might have crossed a line. He clearly saw himself as a gentleman of sorts, and she HAD just called out his treatment of servants and associates… this could turn-

  
“HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” Angel Dust literally head-butted his way through the flimsy kitchen doors, sending them into a frenzied back-and-forth swing like in a bad Western. His mismatched eyes were alit in bright twinkling, all six of his hands holding on to a porcelain soup-bowl as if it were a newly born baby. “He made fucking Antipasto Salad… Proprio come faceva la mamma. Amo quell'uomo!” His nasally and ever-so-nonbinary voice carried a quiver of disbelief and nostalgia, especially when he sunk into Italian after a somewhat dramatic but clearly honest teary-eyed stare into the colourful salad. “Al! Toast! Toast ALL of the bread! You guys’ve not LIVED ‘til you try Antipasto on fresh toast! But only one each! Fuck all of ya’ll I am having the rest of this ta myself!” He lifted the reflective container of white to his face, giving it a long kiss and cuddle with an upwards flick of a leg. The rag-tag staff staring at him in disbelief and confusion. Whatever aggravation HAD been there was doused with the complete violation of a good murder-mood.

  
“Ah… Toast it is, then! I take it from the ‘pasto’-part and your dip into southern-European that it is something cultural? I distinctly heard a surprisingly tender mention of mothers, in there.” Alastor filled the air as he walked back to the loaf and dissected it into perfect discs with an experienced hand, Niffty being quick to fetch the toaster and an extension cord. The latter of which Charlie did not recognize as Hotel property, but elected not to question it and just ride with the mood. If anything, she had never seen Angel Dust this honest-to-God excited over anything, and he was still an excitable character!

  
“Accurate deduction there, Sneerlock! My mama used ta make this for us in the summers whenever the artichokes hit stores! Italian household neva’ had a lack for the pepperoni, provolone or pepper-bells, but Antipasto was as summer seasonal as you can get! Fuck me payless, I didn’ even know they HAD artichokes down here! Not had this shit in over… cavalo… seventy-somethin’ years?” Angel Dust briefly traversed the boulevard of memories, his eyes glossing over with both adoration and anguish over the images, sounds and emotions they stirred.

  
“Mmm, I have seen them, but only rarely. Like most vegetables down here, they are likely magically bred imitations. Adapted to the soils and hardships of hell. I personally have a herb garden of spices composed of such copycat plants myself! A local spice rack can save even the most shallow of grocery baskets, dear maman always said!” Alastor chuckled as he handed the softly smiling porn star the first slices of roasted bread. The width of the loaf made it so they had to be cut in half to fit the toaster, but it was still proper homemade bread. The faint heat did wonders to stir additional strength of smell from the diced cheeses and oils of the salad, the breakfast progressing onwards with a heartfelt mood over the topic of parental dishes. Angel Dust and Alastor in particular hitting it off with surprising ease with their shared passion for good home cooking and apparent deification of their late mothers. Both admitting with mournful happiness that they had neither heard nor seen trace or tail of theirs in hell, boding for a different altitude of afterlife…

The peace and quiet did not last long, however. Barely had breakfast been finished when the clattering of empty plates and glasses stirred the old cat on the other side of the wall. Having actually been asleep- lulled into a surprisingly deep and rewarding rest to the sound of people just getting along and acting like a family- a myriad of noises so deeply nostalgic and sorely missed that it quickly sunk him into a smiling sleep… but now he shifted. His body once more itching for movement and his throat dry from wide-gaped rem-sleep. Pushing himself off the bar, taking a minute to run through his various joints like a regular old sheet of bubble-wrap until he let out a satisfied groan of bodily relaxation, he smacked his lips and rolled his tongue. Water. All night cooking, all morning drinking and sleeping… yup. Water was on the menu.

  
As he entered the cafeteria- or dining hall, whichever culture one preferred it as, he almost bumped straight into Angel Dust. The lanky spider had intended to cheekily escape the dishes- knowing that Vagatha had eyed his multiple arms with a certain sharpness as they stripped the table, and he knew that one remaining eye of her was NOT sizing him up for sexual favours. Alas, as he got into morning-breath-distance with the barkeep- or rather the near lack of one from his dry mouth, the polka-striped porn star shot up a wide and honest smile.

  
“Huskey!” Was all he said before four hands seized the shorter feline over his shoulders and elbows, pulling him in the final distance for a forced and quick kiss across the lips. One which caused the cat to freeze up, flashing the full size of his ember eyes in surprise, as well as a crash and clatter of cutlery. Dropped from the red-nailed hands of a certain Radio Demon, grinning in wide-eyed horror over what he saw. Husk, in turn, seemed to almost snap out of his surprise from the start sounds from his side, furrowing his brow as Angel pulled away with a sly smirk.

  
“Fuck you ain’t..!” He snarled. He would later think back on the moment and question himself, reaching the conclusion that his nostalgia-riddled mind, rested body and rocked focus was to blame for the freshly discharged 30-something Hardy J. Tuckerman on a thirsty walk down Vegas’ brightly lit night-time streets to emerge as he did. Rather than the 120-something-total veteran and gambler and veteran gambler that he was…. For he had quickly thrust free a hand from Angel’s loosening grip and seized the taller man with a curved lay of his fingers across the back of his head and neck, pulling him back down and kissed him Frenchie-style. A quick whirl of his tongue around Angel’s own and likely far longer and more flexible version, but Husk had surprise on his side and used it to wrestle a tender dominance before stealing a sample of Antipasto essence from the dip of the actor’s throat. Finishing the five-second schooling of Angel Dust with an unplanned, old-habit nip of his lip with sharp teeth, before returning his hand to his hips and continued on towards the kitchen as if nothing had happened. “No half-assed performances, toots.” Slipped from his lips. Only lifetimes of card games, interrogations and battles kept his poker face a flawless visualization of uncaring grumpiness as he slouched by the wide-eyed Vaggie, static-sputtering Alastor, star-seeing Niffty and Charlie. The latter of whom had her face completely consumed by the tomato-red doll-dots on her cheeks.

  
His inner monologue was something that would likely have earned him hell upon death all over again for its cultural inappropriateness and raunchy choices of words. Regret, embarrassment and a bunch of other emotions he had hoped drowned, pickled and shelved decades ago.

  
Angel Dust stood stunned. The kiss had not been the best of his life, but the potency and surprise of it still left him with wide eyes and a slight blush. A faint flutter deep beneath the thick puff of fur on his chest… was that thing bigger? He blinked, looking down on himself and noticing said fluff to stand on edge. Holy fucking shit, it DID floof! He let out a soundless huff of disbelief, looking towards the kitchen doors with a spark to his eyes. He had known there was something about the cat from the moment he saw him… and shit just got interesting! He quickly made his escape with a plastered laughter to cover his loss of face, too distracted to feel the daggers stared at him from Alastor… who moments later sunk into his own shadow and removed himself from the excessive dining hall. Leaving the three women to stare at each other in surprise, shock and passionate curiosity respectively.


	2. Questions, Confidants and Curiosities.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastor is forced to face further insight into his own mistakes, spurred in part to Charlie getting to know Husk more deeply. What makes the old cat tick, what motivates him, finding his reasoning inspiring and a good foundation for treating future sinners! However, it is not Husk socializing with Charlie that gets on Alastor's nerves. It is the frequent involvement of a certain Spider, and the race against the clock with how quickly the two seem to get to know each other...

Scars and Scratches. Chapter 2: Questions, Confidants and Curiosities.

Charlie lacked the usual spring to her step as she walked down the worn stairs. Her head even more so in the clouds than usual, but this time it was in honest concern. It had only been a couple of days since Alastor, Husk and Niffty became a part of her hotel, but it had been enough to riddle her with thoughts. The three clearly had history of some sort, and she knew Alastor could not be trusted as much or as far as she would prefer, but still… How was it that Alastor kept speaking so highly of the old drunkard, when the man in question seemed to avoid him at every possible chance. Failing that, keeping things as curt and short as possible… if not down-right rude and insulting. Alastor seemed used to it, to some extent at least, but clearly there was something up. Charlie was not QUITE as gullible as others might perceive her. A fair bit, she would admit, but not to the full extent of rumour and misconception. Husk either had the best or the worst poker-face imaginable, for he was completely beyond her ability to read. But Alastor? He was very similar to her own father. A constant smile, his own approach to a dapper persona, willingness to both flaunt his power and pretend himself without it for the sheer amusement of it… And he was hurting.

  
“Mister Husk?” Charlie questioned the air around her upon realizing the combined barkeep and greeter was neither on, behind or beneath the bar, as she had started to grow accustomed to. She had been pleasantly surprised to witness his prowess and knowledge in mixology for herself in the evenings, as he would bitterly- but obediently mix, blend and stir what was asked of him. It had taken her until the night prior to realize that he was quite the analysist, too. For he customized the drinks after personality and taste ever so slightly. Two people ordering the same drink would get different results. Loving their own and hating the other’s. As per Angel Dust’s sharp nose noticing his Pina Colada smelling WAY sweeter and denser in the rum department than Charlie’s, which turned out to be almost void of booze entirely and heavier on the coconut cream.

  
“WHAT?” The gruff voice called out from some distance. Less so in frustration and more in an announcing of location kind of way, if she read his voice correctly. It was simply how he spoke, she had realized. Not too unlike her own Vaggie, who would often respond with the tone of her mood being unintentional. ‘I mean what I say, not how I sound… sorry.’ Had been uttered a fair few times when she caught herself, so Charlie could relate thanks to her. With that reinforcement of confidence, she followed the call-out through the hallway behind the lobby. At first wondering if she had misheard, before seeing the bright-red feathers of his wings swaying slightly amongst the wild and unkept greens of the hotel’s backside gardens.

  
“Mister Husk? What are you- Oh my gosh! Did you do all this?” Charlie’s pace grinded to a fascinated slow-motion, her eyes widened in pleasant surprise and her smile heightening. Most of the hotel was still in somewhat of a state, even if Niffty’s flickering hands had left it void of grime, dust and off-angled paintings. The garden, however, had been low on the list of priorities but a constant eye-sore. The grass was uncut, the decorative bushes unkept or dead, the trees left void of priming and trimming and blotted out the artificial light from above… resulting in spots of moss instead of grass and similar uneven growth and life amongst the old rows intended for flowers.

  
“Nothing much to look at yet, but yeah.” Husker grunted, letting the small hand-axe fall against the improvised chopping block. A stump from a cut-down dead tree. He was tailor-sitting in front of it, to his left a still respectable pile of branches, saplings and twigs. On the other a pile of foot-long cuts of said material, at least the straighter pieces. Anything too crooked or thinner than approximately a centimetre, he threw behind him into a third pile. However long he had been at it, Charlie could not fully tell. But he had given at least half of the garden- which itself was about half the size of a soccer field, a very strict trimming. The bushes were still awkwardly and unevenly high, but looked almost smooth to touch from their flat surfaces. The trees looking far less intimidating, light now shining through holes in the dense canopies.

  
“Woow… Alastor certainly was right, you DO work wonders when left to roam…” Charlie spoke without thinking, only realizing her words and having complimented Alastor first in her wish to express compliments to HUSK when said cat grunted. Chopping the stem of a sapling with a bit more force than necessary. “Wh-What I mean is; I am impressed by your work! You keep impressing me, if anything! I never expected you to be so passionate about cooking, drinks and gardening! It is refreshing to see such healthy hobbies and practices around here. You are a good example.” She smiled with sincerity, keeping her distance and avoiding full-throttle-enthusiasm, having been made quickly aware of how much it bothered the old cat. Each to their own.

Husk paused his work briefly, looking at the axe blade for a few seconds before getting a mournful look to his eyes. Resuming without answering her at first, but giving off the aura of someone willing TO speak, just needing to choose his words carefully.  
“… new rule, Princess. If I tell you about myself, you keep that to YOUR-self and I just might tolerate conversing with you. No offence, but you strike me as a blabbermouth. Just like Al.” He shot her a sharp and warning- if however not at all threatening glance. It stunned Charlie for a second, as she struggled with how to properly interpret the messages of his words and eyes. Had the reason as to him being more curt to her than say Vaggie or even Angel Dust been because she reminded him of Alastor, with which he seemed to have issues…? She was about to verbally and casually dismiss his comparison between the two with a smile and giggle, coming as far as hoisting the corners of her mouth with a slight parting of her lips… before realizing that in practice, it was the exact same way Alastor likely would behave. Unable to see the compare and similarities from someone else’s perspective and joke them away… she flinched at this realization.  
“I-… I suppose we have some… shared traits, now that you mention it. I had not considered it…” She lowered her gaze, knowing his studied her with slimmed eyes of disturbing cunning and intelligence. It was a parental glare, as she felt transparent before it. Only lifting her gaze as the cat puffed air sharply through his nose, once more letting the axe fall onto his manual feed of wood from the pile. His face a perfect flat of non-emotion.

  
“Not your fault, kiddo. Anyone but me might find it endearing, so don’t let it rub you too deeply. Certainly are worse people in this pit to have similarities with. At least with you I know you are not deliberately cruel. At least I think so… curfews and drink limits? That is some inspired torture right there, kiddo.” He smirked at her. For a second, Charlie almost felt saddened over it, before the tone of his voice and the mannerism of his smirk fully struck her. A joke. Husk could JOKE?! She blinked in a stupor of culture shock, giving the cat a moment of sardonic glee on her expense before moving on. “Anyways… only a matter of time before you find out. If not from Al, then by my own accursed tongue during a binge… US military vet, Vietnam. One of those early platoons that were dumped without much know-how and could not be extracted for… too long.”

  
“… oh… I’ve read of that war…” Charlie rubbed her arm awkwardly, not certain what to say or if she even should. Instead, letting the cat continue cutting his wood and weaving his tale.  
“Long story short, kid… certain shit bother the ever-loving-hell out of me. Sends me right back to times I try to forget. Crappy, cheap or cold food? Right back to the hastily made, stolen or spoiled rations… Unkept and loudly fluttering fuck-off flora? Right back to the never-sleeping jungle where every rustle could be your last… Only thing that war DIDN’T fuck me over on was cheap booze, as we didn’t even have that. Thank fuck for that. I like mixing drinks well enough, reminds me of better times and places- born in Vegas, you see. Not a gambler for nothing. But I prefer the cheap shit myself. Don’t drink for flavours as much as relaxation.”

  
Husk cracked his neck and rotated his shoulder, some strain starting to pang from the monotone work of raising and lowering the axe over and over, yet he kept going. As punctual as a metronome and accurate as a note. Charlie theorized subconsciously that the methodical work and metaphorical removing of the nearby ‘jungle’ did him worlds of good, as he clearly did it sober and was in a more talkative, friendly and open mood. She made a mental summary and note to consider more physical and hobby-based therapy for future clients, before returning full focus to his words themselves. Certainly not the reasons she had expected, and she felt ashamed over the childish part of her that had hoped he did it just to be nice and no other reason. Just doing something to be nice without gaining from it was how she tried to lead her life, but… with this perspective, was it fair of her to expect the same out of people like Angel Dust? Husk clearly benefited from these healthy activities, because they dealt with and muffled his issues that lead to problematic behaviour. Cooking equalled less drinking. Gardening equalled less isolation.

“… you are full of wisdom, mister Husk.” Charlie finally said after a moment in deep and silent thought, lowering herself to sitting on her heels with a soft but honest smile on her face. One that Husk took a single glance at, let out a ‘tsk’ and returned his attention to his work… but he also did not dismiss her. Nor tell her she was wrong. It was likely his way to show he accepted the compliment, much like Vaggie. Charlie smiled at this. There were still many things she did not know, despite being older than anyone in the hotel. Psychology had never been a subject of study for her, and she knew she was lacking in much common sense. Raised a royal and times changing as quickly as they did… she knew she was out of touch and behind the times on a lot of things. It is why she needed help. Why she had accepted Alastor’s offer and tried to see value and wisdom in- WHY was Husk bundling the cut sticks together…? “Husk, why are you bundling those sticks together?”  
“Fuel.” Was all Husk said, as if those four letters explained everything. Continuing to assemble the foot-long cuts of sticks, branches and saplings into tidy bundles- roughly half the wood’s length in width, before wrapping simple string around them tightly. Upon Charlie’s face continuing to contort in confusion, filled with the wanton desire TO question but being too caution to, he rolled his eyes before elaborating. “Firewood. Or fuel for the heater. Or if we wanna grill. Never hurts having good fuel.” He nodded, stacking another bundle next to the others.

  
“Oh! But, are these sticks not… on the thin side? It would be quicker to just burn all these cuttings at once. Firewood is cheap, I would be glad to order some for us if you want a supply? You don’t need to save up scraps for that.” Charlie smiled warmly, before realizing a shift in the mood from Husk’s side. His face was still dead-pan, but she could almost FEEL his distaste of her words. Why? She had meant for it to be comforting. To try and involve him in that the hotel’s finances were more than safe for any foreseeable future… “… or, not? Did I say something bad?” She felt like a tactical retreat and display of awareness might be in her best interest, if only to cater to the cat’s past. There must be a reason for the mood dropping like it did. Husk slimmed his eyes for a second.

  
“… wisdom, huh…” He filled his lungs as he straightened his torso. “TWIG-INNA-WIG! COME’ERE!” He bellowed at such intensity that it made Charlie jump. The roar had been lion-esk in its rumbling depth, carrying easily between the enclosing structure of the hotel and likely into it as well. He then said nothing, going back to bundling his sticks in silence. Only lifting a finger to cut Charlie off as she opened her mouth to question him, at which she noticed the faint twitching of his large ears… followed by a slow nod of confirmation. Moments later, a familiar voice rang out.

  
“Finally takin’ me up on that booty-call, Pussy Papa?” Angel Dust’s sultry voice asked as he stepped into the garden, a little extra sway and cattiness to his walk than usual, his mismatched eyes mounted on Husk and Husk alone. He did offer Charlie a wave of a few fingers in casual greeting, acknowledging her presence.

  
“Keep dreaming, toots. I need a metaphor and you are the perfect candidate.” Husk picked up an untrimmed stick that still had smaller shoot-offs on it, holding it between himself and Angel Dust with one eye criticizing the similar proportions with a smug smirk. To which Angel Dust scoffed but played along, clearly interested.

  
“Yee? Givin’ our little manager here some dadvice as well? I was almost hoping that was exclusive ta me… that yous were only myyy Pussy Papa…” Angel Dust sighed with a dramatic pose of self-woe and bodily alure, making sure his fingers sunk just right into his protruding chest-fluff and his rear strained against the tight short-shorts beneath his jacket. Charlie, never one to get used to Angel’s suggestive nature- as well as having her own bisexual mind constantly pulled at with the mixture of masculine and feminine strengths at once, blushed a bit at the display. Husk let out a reverse snort and shook his head.

  
“Play nice… good boys get rewards, and I know who makes your drinks.” Husk replied, his face as unimpressed as always and his voice steady. He mentally patted himself on the back for another flawless display covering up that stir of boyish emotions in him again. Fucking spider either knew he was sinking ships in the dark mists of poker face, or taking the luckiest of pot-shots…  
“Oooh! Now yer talking my language! Alright, alright… I’ll share my toys.” Angel Dust grinned at Charlie with a lick of his lips, causing her pink hue to mutate into a ferocious red at the implications and images of the lanky actor’s words. Cursed be her imagination and double-cursed be Angel Dust’s insistence of playing on it…! She would need to kiss Vaggie SOO much tonight after all this was done. She was thankful when Husk coughed for attention.

  
“Right. Princess?” Charlie responded to her name being called with a high-pitched and eager yes. “Sticky-fingers here is your metaphor, alright? He is your stick. Would you throw him out just because there is plenty of more promising firewood out there?” Both the porn star and the princess looked to him with wide eyes over his VERY to-the-point and crass question. Charlie immediately stumbling to her feet as she began protesting that she would never, to which Husk raised his hands to be allowed to continue. “Easy, munchkin, easy. I know you wouldn’t. Point is, that old Eiffel-Legs over there is your stick. Hell, he’s a full-on branch with that hair.” Husker sneered as Angel gasped. “You wouldn’t throw him into the fire to get rid of him just because there’s thicker pieces out there. And even if all you can get is more scrawny asses just like him… a nice bundle will burn long and well into the cold night when you need it the most.” Husk smiled faintly, his eyes draped in memories for a brief moment before he went back to bundling, leaving his audience paused in surprise over what they had witnessed and from whom.

  
“Shit, Husky… I’d make a joke about keepin’ ya warm when ya need it, but fuck… almost enough ta make a girl cry over’ere. Sayin’ there’s more value to little old me than meets the eye, ya big charmanova.” Angel chuckled lightly, pretending to wipe an almost real tear from his darker eye before turning to Charlie, who met his gaze carefully. “Oh cheer up, Charles! Ya got anxiety and guilt spelled all over ya face like a fresh spiderman. Don’t suit ya none. But for what it is worth… I guess I better live up to ma upgrade from stick to branch, eh? Little miss Vag-her-finger-gina said something about being of use around’ere, and I think Husker here’s given me an idea.” Angel let a wink slide to Charlie. Not a sly, joking or mocking one, as per standard. But one warm and comforting, with a promise of sincerity to the words prior.

By the time Angel passed through the doors into the Hotel from the garden, Alastor was already gone. He had silently observed and listened in personally on the conversation, drawn like a hound to blood at the mention of his name early on. He looked to his cane with a smile of nostalgia, running his fingers over it ever so gently, as if it was the physical manifestation of the memories in his mind. “A nice bundle will burn long and well into the cold night when you need it the most…” he repeated, a pang of stutter to his breath and a brief pressure over his ribs. Husk had told him those same words, or at least the same core message with slightly different phrasing, a long time ago. Back when Alastor was still rising, having no real associates outside of those that owed him favours to cash in. Before he had minions. Servants. Friends… or just Friend. Singular. It had been Husk to make him understand the value in numbers, compared to fighting a war solo…

  
Just when had he started missing those conversations so dearly? A few days ago, five years had felt like no time at all… and now, with every moment he saw, heard or was deflected by Husker… it felt like an eternity. As if he could barely bring himself to remember those nights together at the top of the radio tower. The clinking of bottles and glasses as Husk would customize drinks based on the victory had and the opponents slain. Of the late-night conversations filled with Husk’s endless streams of sage advice and crass summaries that could break down the most complex of situations into a black and white comprehension. The comfort and safety Alastor had felt those nights, those years… such a stark contrast to his many years in complete solitude and eternal paranoia over whom to even order a cup of coffee from, let alone discuss secrets and past life with.  
“… oh, my catty confidant… I do believe I have wronged you badly.” He sighed, looking to the chair he was walking towards but suddenly finding himself in an ill m

ood for sitting. A need for pacing and fidgeting ran through him, even more so than usual. And he knew why. Guilt. When he and Husk parted ways as Master and Servant, which at that point was only true by the terms of their original contract… Husk had been Alastor’s partner and near-equal in most thing for a generation at the end… well, when that time came, Alastor had meant to fulfil every single letter of his promises. But at the time, things had stagnated for the Radio Demon. The brawls and fights were thrilling enough, certainly, but for what points and purposes did they fill? Alastor had begun dipping into the droll of depression, he knew as much. He knew Husk knew as much as well. He had intended just a few days to fully bask in the loneliness and recharge his social batteries. If nothing else than to give Husk time to move into his new home as well! And then, not feeling quite ready just yet, he had decided to give it another week or two. A vacation on Husk’s end too, from his shenanigans!

  
Those weeks had turned into a month, at which Alastor began to seriously look for something that would catch his interest and invite his old friend to. But nothing really caught his attention… then after three months, having a few letters from Husk asking how he was doing, guilt began to coax the already established layers of boredom and depression. What could he respond with? That he had done NOTHING in three months? How could he? Oh yes, dear Husker! I have not sought you out because I have been busy doing NOTHING! Hahaha! Oh what a message THAT would be… no, instead he began to look for something… spectacular! Something out of the ordinary, something that would surely rock the socks of the nudist magician drunkard! Yes! Soething to compensate for the months of silence, whilst also give Alastor a much-needed distraction from the weary everyday of an overlord! He immediately got to work, scouring the sinners’ circle of Hell for something less mundane than a pub, café, restaurant, brawl or other such things they had done a thousand times! Time seemed to lose its meaning. For every day Alastor would keep looking, but keep finding himself disappointed in the options… always searching for something spectacular, always coming home empty-handed…

  
It took over five years for something to happen. Something so absurd and unimaginably stupid in how bound it was to fail- let alone with how politically tangled it was due to the person leading the project! Oh it practically TICKLED Alastor’s drudgery-addled core with the possibilities! There it finally was! The hoot of a time-passer that could finally bring some joy and entertainment into their lives! Oh wouldn’t this be a blast! Husker would be thrilled!

  
Only… he was not. Alastor slumped slightly as he remembered the eyes of his companion as they met for the first time in years. That glare… it had briefly startled the Radio Demon, making him wonder if he grabbed the wrong person for a moment. It had made him address Husk as ‘good friend’ because he almost felt needed to remind the cat of their long-standing friendship. As if the gambler had forgotten the good times. But the way the old grump treated him… how even the paltry winnings on that doble table had been of higher importance than seeing him again. How he had refused his age-old nickname. Treated him in the same exasperated manner as he had when he was freshly contracted. Bothered by the chores and work…

  
“… Certainly, he must have seen through me? Volunteering his services… it was practically code for me wanting him along but needing to keep the charade up! And then for him to go off like that…? As if I was insulting him on the spot… a clown? I didn’t even know what to say at that point… ‘maybe’… pah! All I could do to not make a fool out of the BOTH of us was keep the mask up and the play on! Having to bribe my own best friend into spending time with me… what on L’thucrlivek’s fifth liver happened to us, Husker old boy?”

  
“Nothing, that’s the problem right?” Alastor spun around with blinding speed, an angelic sabre materialized in his hand as he thrust it towards the source of the intruder’s voice by sheer instinct, but his target was faster. By the time the air from his thrust tugged in her hair, Niffty was already busy spit-polishing the blade she had side-stepped with the greatest of ease. It took Alastor an eye-twitching moment to recover and regrow his smile, which had shrivelled into a feral snarl at being so badly startled. His antlers twitching as he attempted to restrain their growth, coughing into his free hand before retracting his now twice as shiny blade with a sneer.

  
“Niffty… DARLING… what have I said about sneaking up on me like this?” He scowled down to the only Demon in hell who could compete with Charlie in terms of childlike innocence on her smiling face. What bothered him was the perfect awareness that the tiny cyclops had NO acting skills what so ever, so that innocence stemmed from true belief of heart…

  
“That I am not supposed to sneak up on you, Mister Alastor! Which is why I didn’t! I came to clean your room and you were not here which I can tell because the air wasn’t its usual static-y self as it is when you are nearby so I went inside since I wouldn’t sneak up on you and then YOU just appeared when I was already here so I just kept doing my job since I was here first!” Her smile widened with just a smidge of sardonic glee over the awareness of her victory by technicality. Another twitch beneath Alastor’s eye sent her giggling before quickly returning to dusting off a nearby desk.

“… Explain what you meant, my dear. With nothing being the problem?” Alastor finally spoke up, after having slowly brewed himself a cup of calming bayou tea. The first few sips already starting to soothe his nerves and return him to a socially capable state. The little cyclops turning her head in an owl-like fashion with a surprised expression, as if it was not obvious.

  
“Well all Mister Husk wanted was a drink with you to keep being friends the way you were before but you never answered him and never did anything else so nothing happened between you which is the same as leaving a house alone for five years meaning it gets REALLY dusty and full of nasty bugs and icky webs!” Her teeth sharpened at the end of her analogy, and the idea made Alastor squirm a little. The thought that he had negatively impacted his and Husk’s relationship through silence had occurred to him since the first evening, but the visualization brought on by the cleaning freak put it into an undesired perspective he could more easily understand.

  
“… something as mundane as a mere drink or two would have been enough? How do you draw this conclusion, my dear? You have me interested in the source of your knowledge, if you pardon my inquiry.” Alastor smiled, hoping to calm himself by having Niffty admit to speculation and theorizing. She did not.  
“Oh mister Husk and I speak on the phone weekly, Mister Alastor. You never called him back so he started calling me how we were doing since he was scared you got injured or depressed but I kept telling him you spent your days walking around and that you had opened his letters since they littered your desk constantly. Sometimes he’d call me when drunk and really- REALLY sad, crying and such… I didn’t like those calls. I don’t like when Husk is sad. That’s when he told me how all he ever wanted was a drink with you to know that you were still friends and that you didn’t throw him out the moment he was no longer your employee or your pawn or your tool, thinking all those times we spent together were just a charade and that- OOOOH and then you pulled him here and asked him to work for you agai-“

  
“THANK YOU, Niffty… that would be all…” Alastor, practically smelted into a pile of furious, self-loathing wrath snapped his fingers and teleported the miniscule maid elsewhere in the hotel, he was not fully certain as to where but he did not care. Alastor hated himself over many things. His colour of skin, his native accent, his tail, his inability to speak proper French after over a hundred years of intended studies… but as of that moment, Alastor hated himself for what often was one of his strengths. His ability to focus. Even as a mortal man, Alastor had been one of focus and goal-orientation. If he could imagine it, he could set his mind to it! It was not for naught that he got away for as long as he did with his nightly practices whilst playing the innocent radio host during day, after all. His goal was to do it and therefor he did. He was not narrow-minded, even if narrow and focus were born from the same mother, so to speak. He focused on a goal but could therefor see reasons as to why it could fail on a logical reason. Evidences were therefor scrubbed. Witnesses were silenced. Alibies were forged. Logically, nothing could go wrong.

  
Of course… Logic did not declare Alastor to be hunted down by an enraged father of a particularly voluptuous little thing he had thought dealt and done with two years prior. Logic did not declare that he would be chased by hounds and shotgun pellets into the swamp in flight from a man so void of evidence that he would target Alastor based only on that infernal colour of his skin and the flutter-by-word that he had been SEEN with his daughter! As if that whore did not go through men like napkins and rob them all blind the moment they took a first sip of their drink! He had targeted her for being scum unfit for his beloved New Orleans, after all! No, logic had no say in the matter. It was not the EVIDENCE of the THIRTY-FOUR other men she had DRUGGED AND SWINDLED that made the father act… it was the RUMOUR of her being SEEN with a man of mixed birth that sent him into a rage of religious proportion, intent to kill Alastor based on a prejudice HUNCH!

  
“LUCK…!” Alastor spat, practically feeling the pellets still burn beneath his demonic skin. It had been pure asinine and illogical LUCK that the old man had targeted the actual murderer and cornered him during a time of ill preparation… Luck, combined with hatred, sorrow and intolerance. Emotions. Alastor was not without emotions himself, he even thrived on the more positive and macabre ones… but he sometimes… well… he did not FORGET about emotions as much as… temporarily misplace his awareness of them! Maybe even underestimate their full impact on things… mayhaps, at times, have been known to confuse his approximation to feelings for that of others’…

  
Inferior. The word rung out in his head. He had heard it all his life. His classmates, his teachers, his colleges, his waitresses, his fellow man on the street… one does not acquire a murderous hatred for his own species on nothing but an abandoning father, sickened mother and starvation! No sir… when people find themselves HATED, they have often done something to EARN it, whether they accept that truth of not even in their last moments when the light flickers in survivalist frenzy and their lips quiver for air but find only BLOOD SUFFOCATING THEM FROM WITHIN AS-

  
Alastor kicked a leg forward with the absurd flexibility of an Indian street-artist, his foot burying itself into his face with an almost cartoonish depth. The pain of his crushed nose and the taste of his own particular flavour of blood sobering him up. It had been a long time since he got this angry over something, and that anger tried to find familiar areas to vent itself over out if self-protection… that was normally fine and dandy, but he was angry with himself for a REASON and he needed to stay FOCUSED. It was one of his strengths and he would NOT let mere frustration dominate his better judgement! No, the matter at hand here was HIM appearing as if he ignored HUSK for a solid five years before pulling him back for an apparent PROJECT, rather than obvious SOCIALIZING. Good. Solid map. Progress. Proceed, Alastor old boy. He lowered his leg, letting his nose slowly start to heal with a bone-scraping crinkle beneath his eyes. It was absolutely agonizing, which was just what he disserv- NEEDED at the moment! Focus, Alastor. What do we do from here in order to regain Husk’s confidence in us so we can explain the intentions and difference from them without his disbelief in us? What would dear old Husker LIKE that is not a BRIBE…?

Alastor found his answer, but did not find it to his liking. Having spent the majority of the afternoon and evening in deep ponder, going over fifty years of acquaintanceship with Husk and combing them for his likes and enjoyments, he finally felt ready to approach the old cat once more down at the bar for an evening scotch! Alas, his steps were halted in the final stairway from the sounds below. It was a beautiful sound. One he had not realized how deeply he enjoyed it, how starved for it he had grown due to its rarity even during the best of days of daily socializing… Husk laughing. It was deep, gruff, restrained in an old-fashioned and civilized manner fitting that of a father in his study. Whiskey in one hand, pipe in the other, book on his lap. A similar manner of which he knew Husk would spend his days, if chores were met and his mood advantageous. But the laughter was beautiful in the same way that Husk’s claws were beautiful, for it carried an edge to it that cut deep.

  
“Ya know? Ya should laugh more often, Husky. It suits ya, that guff of yours.” That was the sharpness. Angel Dust. And how his words of affection drew a rare smile of exhausted appreciation on Husk’s face as he blended another personalized drink for the spider. “I mean it! It is a soft, warm an’ confident laugh. Not tha’ kinda evil bellow of shitlords or fat freaks, but that… I dunno… gives me pipe an’ whiskey vibes, ya’know?” Alastor’s fingers tightened around his cane, which’s eye began to dart around in hushed panic from the pressure. How… DARE that freakish WHORE say THOSE things to HIS Husker…?! This would not STAND! Alastor took another few steps down the stairs, intent on throwing the whole hotel-scheme out the window for ONE good murder of the most brutal kind, when Husk’s mournful voice halted his steps near the bottom.

  
“You know, I once had someone who’d say that same thing about me. Never could tell him that I liked it, how it kinda spoke to my dreams up in the living world. The whole being a dad part… having a family, a kid to impart all my fuck-ups to and all that jazz.” He drew out the final word in a meaning he thought only he understood, unaware in his socialized state of the deer in the darkness. As Angel Dust asked him what happened, his voice that tender and caring one that only emerged when away from prying eyes, Husk grunted. “I had too high hopes. I expected too much. Got lulled into a false sense of belonging and closeness… and… well… things didn’t work out. Got real close, though. Had the study, the partner, the kid, the whiskey… fuck I even had a pipe! Kid wasn’t mine, but she’s sweet enough. I stayed in contact. Study wasn’t mine either. Made my own over the years. It is where I spent whatever evenings I wasn’t gambling until his hoarse-throated highness hijacked my helpless hide to hell’s highborn’s hotel!”

  
Alastor stood frozen. Uncertain what to make of this confession… these emotions… those… those questions in his head. Hearing Husk this open and out-spoken was something Alastor had possessed the unique privilege of earlier, not counting Niffty on rare occasions. And whilst he was thankful that Husk still respected his old friend- or at least his own word enough to not spill details and secrets, overhearing what values he put on such… petty, trivial, frivolous and every-day-commodity things that Alastor thought were just boredom incarnate for the cat? Not actual enjoyment? It made him question how well he truly knew his ‘best’ friend after all…

  
“… yer an old-school romantic with his feet on th’ ground, Husky. Mister Humble-Grumble himself.” Angel smiled, not a trace of irony or mockery on either face or voice. Husk looked to the side with a halfway smile, unable to argue even if he did not intend to agree. Only looking back to Angel Dust when the lithe man reached out a hand to his cheek. “… yer lonely, aren’t ya?” There was a pain to the spider’s voice, one that seemed to be more of a self-confession than an outwards question. Alastor’s heart bled as he saw Husk cup the hand in his own, eyes barely slits of semi-sober and unrestrained pain.

  
“Yeah… been for a long time.” His answer, akin to Angel Dust’s, was more penetrative accusation than confession. The two looking into each others’ eyes, for a moment seeing the true wear and tear on the other’s soul from their inhuman ages and accumulated experiences… many of which being of hardship and struggle, emotional bottling and plastered facades to hold in desperation and desires. As the spider leaned in closer, Husk only tilting his head slightly to the side to meet the tender kiss, Alastor teleported away. His instincts demanding him to put as great a distance between himself and the hotel as he could, making it through a multitude of blinking warps across Pride to the outskirts of the very plane of Hell itself, before warping to his full demonic form and going on an agonized, confused and for some reason unknown to him… very tearful rampage.


	3. Things that would been, could been, hazbin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastor has finally understood enough of the damage he has done to their friendship and approaches Husk to talk things out.   
> However, he realizes soon enough that there is more to Husk's view on him that he understands, only understanding that he needs it...   
> and stands to lose it, permanently... to someone else.

Scars and Scratches. Chapter 3: Things that would been, could been, hazbin. 

“… three days, three gifts… I reckon that dial of yours is tuned to guilt, eh?” Husk folded his arms as he looked to what had to be a custom grill. It was an old drum-grill at its core, a metal barrel split alongside the length and mounted on legs, but with foldable bench spaces on the sides and several layers of grids! It was even in Husk’s colours. Gray, Orange-Red and card-based icons for knobs and feet. It was truly beautiful, if a bit on the nose considering who it was gifted to. What more, it was indeed the third gift in a row of three days. Each seemingly materializing over night to greet Husk in the morning as he came to spend a couple of hours gardening. The first gift having been a colour-coded wheel-barrel and proper gardening tools, which Husk appreciated. The second an equally colour-coded hammock, drink cooler and straw-lidded jars for safe drinking… which Husk REALLY appreciated! However, he knew the man behind the items. And in him knowing said man, he could practically smell the reeking anxiety that no doubt observed him nearby… 

“… Would it be assumptions of me in hoping I have earned ten minutes of your time without the recent dash of hostility, old friend?” Alastor emerged from… somewhere, in the shadows of the hallway leading to the garden. Husk forgot his poker face at the state of the Radio Demon, perking one of his comically elven eyebrows at the deep rings of darkness beneath the naturally red eyes. His hair was… not unkept, but lacked the size and shine that came with the usage of oils and care. Even his clothes looked like they had been worn without change for a few days, as small stains and traces of dirt could be seen on the already worn ensemble. 

“… You got five. What is this about, Al? You look like shit.” Husk furrowed his brow, his tone a bit more concerned than he had intended, but it tugged at his old heart seeing… him, like that. Even if he was a right prick. Alastor, in turn, regained some spark to his eyes and sincerity to his smile. Nodding with a deep and steadying breath that was uncharacteristically appreciative, all things considered. Stepping forward as he spun his cane behind his back, making the world around them twist and warp with familiar energies. Husk never quite got used to Al’s brand of ‘voodooportation’, made his fur all static-y and it fucked with his hyped feline senses… but he quickly recognized where they had been taken… the Radio Tower penthouse. The familiarity of Alastor’s home and base of operations was surprisingly emotional, forcing the cat to drag in a steadying breath of his own. If only to be a man of his word. Four minutes, fifty seconds… 

“Given your generosity, I shall make the most of it and get straight to the point, old pal.” Alastor chuckled with a hint of normality, but Husk could see that it was a cover-up plastered over nerves more high-strung than Niffty on coke. A sight he hoped never to see, on that matter. “I intend to make amends, Husk. I have come to realize that I hurt you with my absence, and I wish to make it clear that such was never my intentions. To such an extent that it never even occurred to me as a possibility, until recently…” Alastor’s eyes wandered as his tone sobered, shaking Husk at his core. The tin and static were gone. He had NEVER heard Al speak naturally SOBER before… he WAS sober, wasn’t he? The old cat blinked, thankful that his poker face had held true. 

“… is that right?” He sighed, feeling the righteous anger swell inside him but doing his best to choke it, rather than throttle it. “Al, I kinda gathered that’s what the gifts and all were about. And I am not THAT big a grump that I can’t appreciate the efforts and attempts. But you of all people should know how gifts and bribes doesn’t quell the sensation of being wronged. AND, what pisses me off the most, is these gifts confirming something I dreaded those five years…” Husk realized that his control was slipping. His breath was already turning more rapid, his pupils sharpening. He normally never held in anger the same way he could holster other emotions… 

“And… that would be?” Alastor looked to Husk with a face that spelled the same awareness of defeat as that of a child being confronted by a parent, knowing they were in for an earful they had deserved and earned. Fuck, it even pissed Husk off seeing Al do that…! The Husk of old that adored and admired Alastor for being the near-indominable force of man-made chaos was making himself present in Husk’s present. The old Husk that would enter a defensive and shit-talk-encouraging state whenever Alastor faced something that momentarily lame-struck or emotionally got to him. The old Husk that would slap his boss and twist him by his core through manipulative rage and insults, spurring the Radio Demon into a rage of his own that would counter-act his paralysation and get him back in the game! He HATED seeing Alastor this defeated, whilst also HATING himself for hating it after being thrown aside for five years… AND…

“… that if it had NOT been for that fucking hotel, for the Princess accepting your aid against her better judgement… you wouldn’t even have pulled me back in the first place.” Alastor blinked at Husk’s words, his logic declaring that this was a true statement and not seeing the fault in it… which must have been written plain as day on his face, as it threw any concept of time and the promise of civility during that time out the window for Husk. “WHICH MEANS, ASSHOLE, THAT YOU WOULD LIKELY HAVE GONE ANOTHER FIVE, TEN, FIFTY YEARS JUST GHOSTING ME!!! THAT I MATTER SO LITTLE TO YOU AFTER ALL THE FUCKING BULLSHIT WE’VE BEEN THROUGH, THAT ME CONSTANTLY CALLING AND WRITING YOU WAS NOT ENOUGH!” Husk paused, drawing snarling breaths through his bared teeth and fangs, struggling to hold back his full demonic appearance. “That… you didn’t even fucking miss me. Or respected me enough to fucking reply…” 

Alastor stared with wide eyes at the transformation before him. It had been rare during their lifetime together to see Husk even dip into his full demon form, let alone struggle to contain it. The cat was often angry and hot-tempered, but this was… neither frightening nor amusing… it was heart-breaking. That kind of anger that flooded with such passion that it kept cracking the voice of its owner, threatening to unleash the floods of tears that had been built up into literal and emotional pressure… to see Husk go from calm and collected to such a passionate manifestation of zealous wrath, before slumping into a wrecked and un-postured… well… HUSK of himself…? All that life and fire from his anger instantly snuffed out and replaced with grief and mourn, a verbal summary that was equal parts stating the facts as it was finally surrendering to them after years of hoping them untrue. Alastor shivered. Realizing that, in Husk finally accepting those words as not a theory, but fact…? That he stood inches away from permanently loosing his… his…

“… every moment of every day, Husker.” He meekly whispered, lowering his gaze from the cat in exchange for more potency to his voice. He could not both meet those dying eyes AND speak at the same time, for reasons too foreign for him to fully grasp. “I missed you so badly, Husker… I thought of you every minute of the hour, always remembering the times we had and… in my admitted failure to find us something worthy of our re-union as free and equal men, I began living in those moments. Repeating, repeating and repeating the same memories over and over. They were my comfort and my shield, as I searched for something that would be celebratory… something NEW for us to do, rather than just the same old bushwa you did when under contract. I thought… those were things you did because you felt unable to do other things.” 

The two men stared at an individual spot of the floor. Alastor in an unfeeling and unthinking state, which he recognized from his childhood. It had been over a hundred years since he stood there, survival instincts robbing him of hope and thought out of fear of displaying or engaging in either. Not knowing what to come next, therefor his subconscious refusing him any step in any direction as to be ready to sprint the moment Husk gave him an indication. Husk stood in an anthill of thoughts, feelings, arguments and accusations. A large and ancient part of him knew Alastor was long past bullshitting him, every word he said was real and Husk even felt honoured to see the Radio Demon at this level of regret and honesty. But the many emotional wounds of late… the countless hours that fits into FIVE YEARS of constant awareness that he was being ignored, feeling abandoned and used and tossed aside… those wounds had opened up fully, bleeding with infected fury that filtered his thoughts and stained them red. 

“… Alright.” Was all Husk could say after… he did not know how long. Alastor looked to him, fear and hope and confusion in his unsteady eyes. “I believe you. I am choosing to believe you, Alastor. It sounds like something you would do; getting distracted from doing something by being too focused ON doing that same thing.” Husk’s body-language made the Radio Demon nervous. It was so void of hope and limberness. Just a sighing, floppy and exhausted mess of miniscule motions and… hopelessness... 

“Husker, I… please, believe me when I say that I never intended to hurt you. I kept telling myself that you would appreciate a break from my antics, all whilst living in my own world of frustration from hell being an eternity of repetition with nothing exciting to offer us! I just wanted… some fun for us.” Alastor sighed, feeling like he was speaking in repetitions. Any other day and he would have delighted in pointing out his similarities to a broken record, but in that moment it more frustrated than amused him. 

“Al… I see what you are trying to do, but you’re biting yourself in the ass here.” Husk sighed with a shake of his head, his eyes so filled with mourn that Alastor feared the cat had already given up on him… “Doesn’t exactly help your case telling me that you needed additional fun to hang with me, you know? That just me wasn’t enough. Or asking me if I’d even want any of that shit... I know I am being dramatic as all hell right now, but I am fucking hurt and sober and I am hearing these things from the man I saw myself living the rest of my afterlife alongside.” Husk’s voice cracked on the last line like fine glass, leaking out emotions and a message that Alastor could not decipher but still felt the impact of. It made his heart skip for some reason, hearing that Husk would have stayed at his side even without his contract, and it made him wish to tear out his own heart on the spot for never realizing it. Likely, now, having lost any shot at such a reality. 

“… is there anything I can do, Husk?” Alastor, void of a map to redemption, could but ask for guidance. His heart sinking alongside his gaze when Husk slumped a shrug of his shoulders, seemingly as lacking in directions he too. 

“I am spent, Al... I don’t draw more cards when I have nothing left to bet with. If I tried to tell you here and now, I would likely regret it later. So, I won’t. I need time to work up some chips before sitting down at this table with you again.” Alastor nodded, a saddened smile crawling up on his lips from Husker’s eternal default of translating complex situations into pedagogical pictures. It made sense, and he appreciated Husk’s awareness of making choices in a state like theirs might make for a regretful tomorrow. He nodded. “There is one thing, though. I know this will likely kill me, but I could use the dirt-nap right now. Would wash me clean of this shit for a while. So kill me if you must, but I need to get this out of my system.” Husk tied his hand into a fist, looking at it briefly before starting to approach Alastor. Who, in turn, felt tinges of his Radio Demon persona tickle his mind and facial features, but he closed his eyes. Nodding. 

“I suppose that is only fair… just this once, though. I cannot speak for-“ Alastor froze in agony. Pain like he had never known it coursing through him as Husk made impact with him. His eyes flared open despite his general paralysis, his smile completely shattered into faint line of disbelief before the tears began flooding down his cheeks. He had expected Husker to punch him square in the face, but had severely underestimated the cat’s intentions and the pain he could inflict. Alastor managed to turn his head backwards, his neck as unnaturally flexible as ever, looking at the claws on the other side… feeling Husker still in front of him. “Y-… you…” 

Husker did not respond. He only hugged the Radio Demon tighter. His whole body quivering as he could no longer hold in the mourn and sorrow from the past five years of torturous ignoration and isolation, of anxiety-riddled booze-trips and his hyper-keen senses fooling him multiples times per day that he finally heard Alastor talk, walk or teleport towards him… but he was never there. He never came. He likely WOULD never HAVE come… Husk gritted his teeth into silence, further strain that only made him quiver harder. He could not keep back the tears that quickly soaked Alastor’s locks and jacket, but he NEEDED to hold the man. To feel that he was real. To ensure to himself that this was not just ANOTHER dream of hallucination conjured by hell to torment him. 

It was not the strength of the cat that hurt Alastor. It was not even his usual hatred towards being touched without consent. It was something much deeper that cut through him like a searing hot knife through emotional butter. He had never known he needed this. He had no memory of when the last time anyone hugged him was… likely his mother before the actions of his father made him distant from physical stimuli, but it was not just the hug itself. It was that HUSK hugged him. That soft, dense and rich fur he had stroked so many times in both mockery and silent therapy. That scent of worn-in whiskey, smoke and papyrus that could never be fully removed from said fur and had become so familiar over the years… Alastor felt as if something he had lost a long time ago was returned to him, alongside with the discovery of something new he could thereon out not live without… with the realization that he may or may not be able to hold on to any of it. That he might have squandered the chance to have this in his eternal afterlife… by Rw’vonixxlray’s second beard… he may need to spend eternity in hell WITHOUT this… 

Husk did not manage the bar that evening. He did not tend to the garden either. Nor spend it in his room, or anywhere at the hotel as far as anyone could gather. Niffty knew the nooks and crannies of the architectural orgy better than even Charlie herself at that point, and even she would confess with a droop of her gaze that she had not seen him all day and evening. He had left no message other than “Gone fishing” scribbled in black marker on a scrap of paper, which was no real comfort or indication of anything… seeing the lack of public fishing spots. Any pools of water that were still clean enough to home living creatures for consumption were owned and protected by the various corporations of Hell to stimulate the market. Of course, Angel Dust had squinted at the paper and looked to it longer than the others upon filling the lobby that evening. Either seeing- or trying to see a hidden message in it. When Charlie noticed, asking if he knew anything, he had only shrugged and put on a theatrical face of being wounded. Claiming that in his line of work, the line Husker had written implied a different kind of catch. 

A line that had made Charlie blush a little, Vaggie groan over yet another perversion she would not be able to unthink, Niffty blinked before pulling out her little diary and made a note- intent on remembering and using that in a story somewhere… Alastor’s face had darkened briefly but he quickly shook it off before anyone noticed. He found it strange. When it was just him and the spider, he did not really mind the crossdresser. They could even get along. But put that same spider in the room Husk- or even have him mention the cat, and Alastor immediately longed for the grip of his Angelic weapons… He understood it as far that he was jealous of someone else- let alone someone so IMMENSLY different from himself, was getting close and personal with his Husker. Twice so because it likely only happened because of his own actions starving Husk for social interaction and relief. Why it had sent him into a frenzy of devastation to see the two kiss- not ONCE, mind you… but TWICE and the second one was CLEARLY no spur-of-the-moment-mistake…! Well… he did not know that part. It just made him wish death and destruction upon the porn star. 

Husk was back the day after, seemingly no worse for wear and… had by all accounts apparently really gone fishing. Because the Hellibuts he was roasting on his brand-new grill, kept cold and fresh in his new ice-filled drink-cooler, were certainly ripe from the waters and there would have been no time to get to a store to haggle for them. Angel Dust, from years of street smarts and survival through silent observations, caught on quick that there were no traces of the immense table being dragged across the grass. The thing was solid fucking wood and old fashion, a light tug on the edge as he sat down confirming that the fucker weighed a TON… He had perked to the old barkeep as he manned the grill, biting his lip. Not just sage, humble, cute and fashionably bitter, but with some strength to the old bones, eh…? He filed the thought away for later, reaching for the bowl of roasted hellibut scraps salad with Road Island. Oh, right… the fucker could COOK, he remembered upon the first bite and shivered. 

Charlie had been relieved at the evidence presented, but still elected to pressure Husk on where he had gone and why he had not told her in advance. In all honesty, it had been amusing for all parts involved except Charlie when Husk asked her why he should with a slight smirk. Why had it been amusing? Because Charlie responded with a confused face and a tone like she was speaking to a flat-earther about basic sense, stating that she, as the hotel manager, got worried when her staff just vanished unannounced. That in of itself was not that funny either. What WAS hilarious was realizing that Charlie had stepped into Husk’s trap, for his smirk sharpened as he turned around from his grill and asked about the specifics for his working conditions, payments, vacation days, sick-leave, oh and was he still expected to be both the barkeep, greeter, gardener AND part-time cook all at once? 

Charlie had paled briefly before turning bright pink and lowering her gaze. Only then and there realizing that she never really HAD employed anyone. Alastor had just snapped them both there, given them duties to fulfil and then started doing his own… she had no-one on her payroll, and had never even asked Alastor what- or IF he paid them either! The way Husk treated it made it clear that there were no hard feelings about it, and even Vaggie was snickering at the display of her overly peppy and positive girlfriend being presented with hard facts in a comical manner. She loved Charlie so dearly, but making her see reality and think as an actual business owner could be its own little hell at times, and she knew the red-cheeked half-angel would grow from this. Twice so as Husk sat her down by the table with a fatherly chuckle and pat on the back, giving her the fattiest and juiciest Hellibut fresh from the grill with a squirt of lemon juice and a funny-looking wig of lemon peel frills. Telling her to cheer the fuck up with a brief softness to his voice and eyes, one that made the awkward and embarrassed Princess snicker against her will at the whole situation. Digging in to the crusty-grilled scales and stuffing herself with the ripe meat beneath. Already edged on and making up contracts and benefits for proper employment in her mind! 

Alastor would treasure that moment for years to come, having himself never even thought of using that little detail against Charlie but oh so dearly welcomed the joke in how Husker so brilliantly presented it! Ah, what a showman indeed! He had, of course, later sat down with Charlie and aided her in the drafting of contracts. Husk was a free soul, and whilst Alastor was more than willing to keep financing the alcohol and give the cat free tap for whatever he needed, some manner of economical compensation to tie him to Charlie could be beneficial for all parties. It would give Charlie some authority and weight, which she sorely needed other than being very vague ‘business partner’ with Alastor. On that same note, Niffty was still under contract WITH Alastor. She was, technically, working off her debt to him by cleaning the hotel. However, Charlie insisted in giving the little cyclops some manner of compensation and benefits. Settling on a small personal payment outside of the favour she was returning to Alastor, as well as free hands over a monthly budget for cleaning supplies! The last of which had made the little maid cry with joy and immediately go off on a too-fast-to-follow verbal calculation on what to prioritize for her first order. 

Angel Dust, in turn, had left that breakfast with a personal itch to satisfy. It had been… complicated, watching the scene between Husk and Charlie. Angel had already succumbed to a state of praising the old cat, sat in a mentality of bliss over the Road Island and fish- salads of any kind being rare as all hell in hell, well-made ones usually only served for snooty people at snooty prices… so Husk always involving a salad side-dish of some kind that was not just soggy or mushy raking scraps but actual meals with taste, flavour and sating fats? The strictly figure-watching actor was on cloud nine for that part alone! Something that added another few digits to his total hots for the barkeep. And then… the fucker had to go and be all fatherly, publicly. That gruff, down-to-earth and ‘gonna learn today’ attitude with a chuckle and smile? That catering and wordless apology-encouragement by patting her back and giving her a larger helping for accepting her defeat and taking wisdom in it? By all the tutti-frutti lube in hell if that didn’t do it for him… Angel knew full well that he had a bit of a dad kink, but how many years had it not been since he saw actual DAD material rather than just having to call someone ‘Daddy’…? Fuck… 

In the days that followed, the hotel settled into a new norm and mood. Charlie noticed early on that Husk and Alastor were slowly getting along more and more, starting to show that age-old friendship that she had heard and seen so many traces of. There were still tension between the two, but they were clearly making honest attempts at rekindling and repairing what once separated them. Add to that a growing respect towards her, now that she was their boss proper. Offering compensation whilst also being keen to ask for advice and then heed them. Especially from Husk. Whilst Alastor was a fountain of information in his own rights, especially when it came to the details and micromanagement of business and advertising… old-school and somewhat out-dated, but it added a nostalgic and timeless charm to it that would speak to both old souls for their past and young souls for wanting something tried and true. Alastor could certainly find small flaws and imperfections with accuracy and deadly precision, but many of them either piled up too quickly for her to follow or were so poorly explained that she was left with questions. 

Husk, on the other hand, seemed the master at summarizing. Taking a situation and boiling away the details until all that was left was the salt of mattering. She did not agree with all of his advices from a moral point of view, but she was quick to see the wisdom in them despite philosophical differences.   
“Never trust no-one or no-thing completely, kid. Perfection is an aspiration, not something that actually exists outside of concepts. So perfectly trusting anything is a guaranteed future betrayal.” He had one told her, which originally rubbed her all kinds of wrong as it implied he didn’t trust her fully and she shouldn’t trust Vaggie fully… but after some reflection, she realized that it WOULD be unfair and unreasonable of her to always trust in everyone on every thing. Vaggie couldn’t cook to save her life, so it would be unfair to trust in her succeeding with that, for example. The message was not about being a doubter or isolationist, it was about setting realistic expectations to not set oneself and others up for failure. 

It was advices like these, truly fitting with his locations of choice; bar, garden or kitchen, that made her come back for more on the regular. Using the old barkeep as a wall to bounce ideas and concepts with, get easily understood feedback before approaching either the niche Alastor or defensive Vaggie… or at the very least snatch some key words and expressions to momentarily replace her own choice words with sprinkles of rainbows… she did not like to admit it openly, but Vaggie HAD been right regarding the weight of phrasing and presentation. Charlie had learned that finally after the TV disaster, but also had no good source to learn from. Vaggie, bless her heart, was cautious and defensive against any idea because she feared getting Charlie exposed to failure or disappointments, but would quickly agree to let Charlie try because of the faith she had in her… whilst it only doubled the princess’ adoration for her partner, it was more a source of inspiration and energy than actual learning and progressing. And Alastor… well… she was not sure she WANTED to learn from Alastor. She valued his knowledge, but knew better than to assume there were no undertones or schemes for his own amusements therein. He was her Loki. Brilliant, but not trustworthy… huh… reasonable expectations… She smiled. 

The norm at the hotel had settled as such; Husk would make them breakfast, often already be done with it and just waiting for people to trickle in on their own accord, then vanish into the garden for a few hours of polishing. Charlie herself would make them a light lunch, Alastor promising he had a cook up his sleeve that would be willing to take on the duty but was currently occupied elsewhere for a while yet. Following lunch, Charlie, Vaggie and Alastor would spent a couple of hours in conference discussing the hotel. Drafting contracts, flyers, menus, activities, therapy questions and what have you. Alastor would pardon himself at 4 PM sharp to begin preparing dinner for everyone, leaving Charlie and Vaggie to either finish up, do some chores together or visit Husk for some advice on the details and the occasional translations for Alastor’s phrasings. After dinner, most of them would linger in the lobby. Lounging together and simply socializing. Some card games, dancing lessons, pop quizzes… it was all very homely, and Charlie could not remember being happier. 

Ever since that first time in the garden with Husk, however, Angel had promised to make himself of more use at the hotel. Having asked for an old office space on the lower floor that stood empty to use for a secret project, which had been approved by Charlie quickly despite a very suspicious Vaggie needing to re-approve it after a bunch of questions. Angel refusing to say what his idea was up-front, but clearing up that it was nothing sexual, drug-based or otherwise naughty in nature. Only asking for the office space and a handful of cash for some paint and tools, which Charlie was more than happy to provide if it meant getting Angel something productive to do and distract him from his bad habits! And, by some grace of benevolent forces, Angel had truly meant it. After five full days of secrecy, spending hours on end holed up in his pet project room to the sound of his own singing- something Husk constantly picked up with his sensitive hearing and found himself humming along to… Angel opened the doors publicly! Having everyone attend after dinner. 

It was a barbershop! A hair saloon, of sorts! Very much styled after the 50’s, chrome borders on hot-pink bases, white walls with faded pink stripes and dots in theme with his own fur. Mirrors, tables and chairs being nabbed from the hotel’s storages and given a make-over to fit in, the supplies of hair products and make-up tools clearly being partly donated from his own stash! He had even installed a tailor’s corner, with spare bolts of cloth, rolls of bands and a wall of different threads surrounding a mounted sewing machine! Declaring that he could not do much outside of his job, but he had multiple lifetimes’ worth of experience with hair, make-up and sewing. Stating that he would earn his stay by providing free service to anyone who stayed at the hotel, and that a full make-over at the hands of the infamous Angel Dust could make for a banger of an advertisement. 

Charlie had wept like a toddler on Christmas with a puppy as present. Pride, joy, gratitude and the sensation of being washed clean from weeks of doubts and worries and second-guessing regarding her initial candidate flooded her. Unable to do anything but cry, hug the spider and praise him for the good boy that he was. It had even made Angel Dust teary-eyed from the show of affection, making him hush Charlie and stroke her hair to calm her down… when that did not work for a minute or two, he finally snapped her out of it by jokingly pointing out that she kept smearing her mascara all over his ‘tits’ like she was marking territory. That had made her quickly snap back with a straight spine before realizing he was joking with her, upon which she laughed. Hell, even Vagatha had complimented him on it being a good idea, as previously SHE had been the one cutting her own and Charlie’s hair, but having no skill or resources beyond her scissors. Alastor kept silent, but in doing so showed his own approval. Whilst it was a generation after his beloved 30’s, it was clear that the stylish theme of the 50’s still spoke to him. Certainly better than modern neon bullshit! 

“Hey, with Husky being the resident dad around’ere, I figured we needed ourselves a resident mama too, ya’ know? I’ll leave the grilling an’ dadvicing to Whiskey-Whiskers, but any prettying-up or gossip comes mah way! No better place ta rant than with a deep-root scrubbin’ an’ facemask!” Angel struck a pose in the middle of his little saloon with a proud and excited smile, causing the crowd to chuckle and snicker at his analogy. Husk too, even jokingly proclaiming that he wouldn’t mind having his fur brushed at the ‘Bella Madre Ragno’, which had sent the puffy-chested actor into a faint blush beneath wanting eyes. Mumbling a slew of Italian that only Husk seemed to understand, throwing something back at him with slimmed eyes but a faint smirk.   
“Ti piacerebbe, vero? Cattivo ragazzo.” 

Alastor had excused himself from the saloon without a word or notice. Warping to his office where he proceeded to stare at the wall until the paint on that spot actually began to flake from the intensity. He did not understand why it got to him. Why it made him so mad and… murderous. He and Husk WERE getting along again, slowly but surely! He WAS happy and thankful for that! He had no reason to be jealous of the accursed spider getting along with Husk anymore! Husk got along with EVERYONE and had been good friends with Niffty for DECADES! So why did it suddenly hurt and frustrate him to see Husk and this Angel Dust character make goo-goo-eyes at each other and speak in codes?! It made no logical sense WHAT so EVER! Had he not just SOLVED things?! Husker said he needed time before telling Alastor what he wanted from him, and he was giving him time. He had laid himself BARE before the cat and practically BEGGED for forgiveness and the means to compensate! And Husk clearly appreciated it! He would not be slowly opening up to Alastor again if that was NOT the case!! 

So then… WHY… why did he want to cry whenever he saw Husk smile like such to that… that wretched whore of a man? That same smile that Husker had given only HIM for years… that kind of adoring, admiring and approving smile that Husk only gave Alastor, that Alastor had only ever gotten from Husk. It was HIS smile, damnit… a smile he longed to have Husker give him once more, to sit there with that wonderful, heart-warming and encouraging smile of his as Alastor told him of small nonsenses and nothings over some scotch… The scotch was back… they were gradually getting to talking again for longer and longer times… but that smile… it had been unique to Alastor, but now seemed to be given to Angel Dust… WAS it unique? Had he been traded away? Would he never earn that particular touch of warmth personally…? 

Alastor did not sleep that night. He spent it writhing in his bed, a thousand questions that he felt boiled down to a single, simple answer… one that eluded him like a bird eluded the starving weasel. He could see it in the distance, craving it so desperately, but not even make it out properly to identify and name it. Just knowing it is there, unable to grasp it. Unable to tell if it was moving closer towards him at all, or vanishing into the horizon…


End file.
